


little pistol

by eskalations



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types, Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:15:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24627652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eskalations/pseuds/eskalations
Summary: Riza gave him a small smile at the earnest question. "I wasn't lying when I told you I felt like we were kindred spirits. Like me, you have the eyes of a killer. I noticed it when you first sat at the bar earlier. I figured you and I would make a rather good pair." (AU where Riza became one of Madame Christmas's girls)(Day 2 "little pistol" by mother mother - Royai Week 2020)
Relationships: Chris "Madam Christmas" Mustang & Roy Mustang, Riza Hawkeye/Roy Mustang
Comments: 8
Kudos: 32





	little pistol

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Here's my attempt at the day 2 prompt for Royai Week 2020. If you want the full effect, make sure to listen to the song "Little Pistol" by Mother Mother. The song reminds me of "House of the Rising Sun," so I wanted to give it a similar vibe to that. Let's just say, this fanfiction took on a life of it's own after awhile. I started out thinking it was going to lead one place and then we veered way off track...that being said, I hope you can still enjoy it!
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments and Kudos are much appreciated!

> _Under the skin, against the skull_
> 
> _They put a little chip so that they know it all_
> 
> _I think I might be scared_
> 
> _Of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid_
> 
> _And how it gets in the way_

* * *

The way she looked at him was not the way a sister would look at her brother.

He was sure that – over the rim of his glass – the young woman could sense him peering at her. Much like her own hungry gaze, his held nothing of innocence either. The smooth whiskey-colored set of her eyes matched the shade of the drink he was presently nursing – the burn she delivered far more potent than the one from the liquor sliding down his throat.

"Roy boy."

The gruff voice of Madame Christmas brought him back to the present, her dark eyes – so much like his own – glaring at him in reprimand. Under the hardened gaze of the bar owner, the young man felt more like a boy of twelve than a man of twenty-four. He turned back towards the bar on his stool, placing his glass down on the counter.

His attempt at appearing casual did not fool his surrogate mother. "Stop ogling your new sister, boy. She's one of the best girls I've recruited in years."

"Really?" Roy remarked, surprised at the praise. Madame Christmas was not one to throw around compliments. Leaning forward with his elbows on the countertop, the young man couldn't hide his curiosity. "What makes her so special?"

"For one, she's a better shot than any soldier I've ever seen."

Thinking this was a jab at his own poor shooting record, Roy pouted petulantly. "Hey, I passed!"

"No no no," Chris Mustang insisted, pulling out a rag to begin wiping down the counter. "I'm being serious. That girl right there is lethal."

Roy looked back over his shoulder to where the pretty blonde stood, serving a group of soldiers who seemed to be chomping at the bit to know more about her. She smiled coyly at them – lips moving in what he imagined to be a flirty retort. Whatever she said, had the young men choking with laughter, one even falling backwards out of his chair. At such a response, the young girl giggled attractively before turning to serve another group of men.

"She doesn't look very scary to me." Roy said, turning back to the dark-haired woman at the bar. "She looks tame as a kitten."

"Tell that to the man she maimed."

Roy's drink stopped halfway between his mouth and the bar top. "Oh?"

The elder Mustang chuckled, disposing of her rag before reaching into the pocket of her fur coat to pull out a cigarette. After lighting it and taking a long drag, she cast one more protective look around the room at where her girls were working, before leaning closer to her nephew, the smoke on her breath assaulting his senses.

"She came to us while you were off in Ishval. Her father was an alchemist, and according to her, a pretty good one." Roy's eyes twinkled at this. One of his greatest desires was to become a State Alchemist. All he needed was a competitive edge. "Don't give me such a hopeful look – he's dead. He's been dead since she was sixteen years old."

"So how did she end up here?" Roy attempted to mask his disappointment with curiosity. It wasn't very hard since this girl had certainly piqued his interest. "Was her father a State Alchemist?"

The Madame chuckled darkly. "Oh no, my boy. He hated the military more than anything on this planet. She says he called them the scum of the Earth."

This wasn't a widely accepted opinion. Most alchemists worshiped the ground any military official walked on, knowing that their participation in the program meant extra funds for research in the future. It was hard to conduct independent alchemy research without the backing of the State Military.

Chris caught on to his line of thinking, taking another long drag from her cigarette before releasing a sad sigh. "He refused to become a part of the State Alchemist program. He left behind a hefty amount of debt when he passed. Her home was repossessed about a year ago and she somehow found her way here."

"There has to be more to the story than that."

The Madame had a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Let's just say I'm doing a favor for a friend. He's one of my best paying customers, so I couldn't let his little granddaughter end up shivering in an alleyway somewhere."

"She has a grandfather?" Roy was surprised by this, most of his sisters were orphaned. Mollie was the only one he knew of that still had any family left living. Girls like Vanessa and Alice had come to the Madame as little more than children, willing to earn their keep by becoming bar maids. The new girl looked little more than a teenager herself. "Why on earth would he choose this life for her over one he could provide her with? Doesn't he know what your girls do?"

"He knows, but he doesn't have any kind of relationship with her. I don't think he cares much what she's doing as long as she's being fed." Chris shrugged, her eyes cutting over dangerously at a pair of rowdy young soldiers who seemed to have had a bit too much to drink. "Besides, he knows that while she's under my roof, no harm will come to her."

"That's horrible." The young Captain muttered under his breath, glancing to the side where the girl was chatting with his eldest sister, Vanessa. "What grandfather would ever force their grandchild into the life of a – "

"You don't understand, Roy," The dark-haired woman reasoned with him, sliding the cigarette from between her lips and looking both ways. Once she was satisfied that no one was paying any heed to their conversation, she continued. "She will be able to do far more in this position than she would have in any other job she could have gotten. She had a good education, but not good enough to build a life on without a husband. Her skills will be put to good use here; her grandfather knew that. It was the reason he sent me to go and retrieve her."

"Because of her shooting skills?"

"That and her sweet features." Chris's eyes drifted to the young girl, her eyebrows raising as she prompted Roy to turn and see what she was looking at. "Would you ever think that the little darling had grown up hunting in order to eat? That her eye is better than most men who have trained for years – simply because she had to adapt so that she could survive? Probably not."

Roy's eyes nearly bugged out of his skull at this revelation. He turned his head to gaze at the girl in question once more. As she chatted with Vanessa, he noticed how the bones of her collar jutted out a bit more than normal. She was blessed with gentle curves and certainly didn't look as though she was being underfed – however, it seemed that the scars of her past were still evident in the way her skin drew taut over her body.

"She's not one of my sleepers." His foster mother assured him, watching as his gaze softened with misplaced sympathy. "She simply goes, performs a little, slips them a sleeping pill, then leaves. That's all she really needs to do to get information out of them."

"And the guy she maimed?"

Chris smirked, eyes sparking with pride. "He didn't take very well to the sleeping pill and tried to force himself on her. Lucky for her, she always carries a pistol; not so lucky for him, she's a good shot. He escaped with a minor wound to the leg and was charged with assault."

The Captain shook his head in disbelief, still having trouble believing that the pretty blonde in front of him could prove to be that lethal.

"Why don't you go introduce yourself to her?" Chris urged, fully aware of the way his eyes seemed to follow the young girl as she walked through the door to the back room. "She's a lovely young lady. In the year that she has been here, she has proven herself valuable time and time again. I know she's been eager to meet you with all the stories your sisters like to tell."

Roy blushed at the thought of his sisters gathered around the dinner table, telling the new girl all the embarrassing things he had done in his youth.

"I don't even know her name."

"It's Elizabeth." The Madame smiled knowingly, watching as his lips mouthed the name, trying to figure out if it truly fit her pretty, young visage. "It's not her real one, but she said she wished to leave that one at the door. Since she's the youngest girl we're housing right now, your sisters have taken to calling her 'little pistol'."

Roy grinned wryly. "How creative – let me guess, because she carries a pistol?"

"Not just because of that," Chris clarified, grabbing a few glasses before walking away towards a new set of customers sat at the counter. "It's more because of the personality she's packing with it. She's a girl with real grit. Go and chat her up, Roy boy – I know you want to."

Pointedly ignoring the suggestive look on his foster mother's face, the young man tipped back his glass before standing. The room spun for just a moment before it righted again. After his time in Ishval, his alcohol tolerance had grown immensely. He certainly wasn't an alcoholic like the majority of the men he knew who couldn't handle the horrors of war – however, he was a bit more dependent on the bottle right now than he liked to admit.

As he crossed the bar, he was stopped by several soldiers who clapped him jovially on the back. The clock hadn't even struck midnight yet so – to them – the party still had a long way to go. His sisters gave him knowing looks as he passed, having already said their 'hello's' to him when he walked through the door earlier. Yes, he had said hello to everyone – except the mysterious blonde girl who still had not yet come back to the room.

When he entered the back room, only a single lamp was on, casting long shadows across the expanse of the wall. The room was off limits to patrons, unless invited back by one of the girls. The room, which was more accurately described as a 'hall', held the stairway that led up to the residential part of the bar. The second floor contained a long row of rooms, almost like that of a hotel, allowing each girl to have their own space and conduct their work in private.

Roy also had a room on the second floor – however, he had been staying with a friend since his arrival back in Central. The nightmares he had were still far too violent and he didn't feel comfortable exposing that side of himself to his family just yet.

He was trying to decide whether he wanted to walk up the steps or not, when a feminine figure began making her way down them. His appearance caused her to pause a moment in surprise, before she continued her way down the stairs, a small smile lighting up her features.

"Hello, you must be Roy."

He could barely form a coherent thought, his eyes glued to the new coat of ruby red lipstick she must have just applied. His brain was fuzzy from the alcohol, but he knew one thing for sure. Even if he hadn't been in a womanless drought for the past year, this new bar maid would have driven him crazy.

She finished her descent down the stairs before walking closer to him. The single lamp in the hall illuminated her features, giving him a moment to catalogue the fine lines of her face. Her nose was sharp and her brows were arched – however, there was a gentle quality to the way her features harmonized. Those large, whiskey-colored eyes that had stopped him in his tracks earlier, were framed with a heavy set of dark lashes. She was both alluring and charming.

A deadly combo.

It certainly didn't help that she was also wearing a criminally tiny, black dress that showed off an ample amount of her cleavage. Roy thanked his lucky stars that he had chosen to wear civvies instead of his constricting military blues or else he might have passed out from the heat being generated within the room.

"Well," She spoke again, breaking him from his thoughts. There was a sly smirk on those ruby red lips of her's now. "Am I right? Are you the illustrious Captain Mustang that I've been hearing so much about?"

Roy chuckled nervously at the playful question, his palms sweating as she drew nearer. She was so close now, that he could almost count the tiny dusting of freckles that lay delicately over the bridge of her nose. He had to clear his throat before speaking – fearful that if he didn't, his words would come out as nothing more than a meek squeak.

"Just Roy's fine." He answered modestly, when he was finally able to find his voice again. "Madame Christmas told me that the girls have shared with you all my faults, so I don't think there's any room for anything but familiarity between us, at this point."

"Is that so?" Her smile was one of amusement, her eyes sparkling mischievously in the dim light. "Well then, if we are past the point of introductions, then I assume you must already know my name as well?"

Still high off the liquor, Roy was able to answer her banter quickly. "Do you prefer Elizabeth, or do you prefer 'little pistol'?"

"Neither, actually."

Her words stumped him, throwing a wrench in his slowly building confidence.

"I would rather you call me Riza."

She said it quietly, so quietly that he wasn't even sure he had heard her correctly. There was a small amount of uncertainty in her tone as her voice shook, so unlike the confident vixen whom had come to meet him just a few minutes earlier.

"Why?" He couldn't help but ask, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Because that's my name."

This surprised Roy even further. The Madame had told him that Elizabeth was not her true name, the girl choosing to leave her old name behind in favor of a new life. _Why on earth would she be telling him to use it?_

"Your sisters speak fondly of you, Roy." Her voice was low – aware that, just a room away, there was a whole crowd of people. "I've never heard such high praises spoken about a young man before."

The man couldn't fight the guilty clench of his heart – the ache spreading through his chest and momentarily leaving him speechless. Would his sisters have spoken so highly of him if they knew how many people he had killed in Ishval? Would they still have admired him and welcomed him with open arms if they knew the truth behind the campaign?

Those were answers he was too scared to find out.

"I know about Ishval." Riza said, quietly. The words had Roy's eyes opening in shock. "The soldiers who have been coming in have been drinking themselves sick. Once they get passed a certain part of inebriation, they share all the things that they did out in that desert – almost like they are confessing to a high priest. I'm assuming by the look on your face that you are guilty of much the same."

Roy's mouth couldn't form coherent words – shocked that the young blonde had been able to read him so effectively. Maybe _this_ is what Madame Christmas had meant about the real reason for her nickname. Her senses were as acute as a sniper's.

Finally finding his voice, the soldier sputtered. "How did – How did you – ?"

"I have a confession to make too, Roy." Riza's eyes gazed into his beseechingly, as if searching for an answer to something that she had yet to ask. "Can I trust you?"

"I just met you." Roy answered, confused by the direction in which this conversation had gone. One moment, they were playfully teasing each other – the next, they were delving into the dark pasts of the other. _What was going on? Was he really that drunk?_

"Weren't you the one who said there was no reason for anything but familiarity between us?" She asked, her voice low against the constant hum of conversation floating through the bar door. "Besides, I have a feeling we're kindred spirits – you and I."

"Why's that?" He asked earnestly, giving up on any attempt to try and piece things together from their conversation. There was no making sense of it. He must be _really_ drunk.

"Come with me."

Roy knew he should have been cautious around this unfamiliar girl – who, in the past, had literally maimed someone – but he couldn't find it in himself to be anxious. In the small moment when she had told him her name, he found that he inevitably began to trust her too. Maybe it was the look in her eyes – so honest, so genuine – or maybe it was the slight quiver in her voice as she asked whether she could trust him.

_Or maybe it was just the booze._

Regardless, he allowed her to drag him up the long familiar staircase and down to a single door that he assumed to be her room. Before he could say anything, she had unlocked the door and thrown him in, closing it tightly behind her. This left Roy standing at the center of the room in utter confusion.

"You know," He said, lowly – trying to hide his disdain for being manhandled behind a well-practiced mask of nonchalance. "If you wanted to get me in your bed, all you had to do was ask."

When she turned towards him, he was shocked silent. In the pale moonlight that drifted in between her curtains, he could see the telltale sign of tears making their way down her smooth cheeks.

"I need to tell you something." Her voice was gravelly, the tears falling at a faster pace now. "I couldn't tell any of the girls because they wouldn't understand – but with all they have told me about you, I was hoping that you would."

Roy felt like he was getting whiplash from the continuous change in tone of their conversation.

After his initial shock wore off, he was finally able to find his voice once more. "What is this about?"

"Ishval."

The man could feel his expression darken, the mere mention of the land bringing forth memories that he would have rather left behind in the sand. "What about it?"

"Have you ever killed anyone, Roy?"

At the question, he went quiet. She had started to shake with her tears, hands clutched in front of her as if almost in prayer. Those warm brown eyes never left his, staring into his very soul as if they were extracting every experience he had ever had during his time in the military.

"Of course," He answered truthfully, though his tone held no pride. The least he could do was be honest with her. "I was a tactician who specialized in knives. I killed more people than I think I could even count."

This was why Roy had been staying with Maes Hughes ever since returning from war. To hear such a cruel reality was sure to mess with his sisters' sensibilities. There was no way anyone could look at him the same after finding out about the monster he really was.

Instead of running away in fear– or kicking him out of her room in disgust at the sheer brutality of his actions – Riza breathed a heavy sigh of relief, her hands coming up to wipe the remnants of tears from her cheeks. Her reaction was so out of the norm, that Roy truly began to think that he must be having some kind of alcohol-induced fever dream.

"I killed someone."

At her admission, Roy felt his knees give out from under him. With all the grace of a newborn calf, he sat back on the edge of her bed, trying his best to make sense of what she had just told him.

"What?" He finally heard himself ask, barely able to come up with coherent speech. He was suddenly a lot more sober than he had been just moments before. "With your gun?"

"No," Riza shook her head, directing her gaze to the floor. She was leaning against the door now, her shoulders hunched forward in shame. "I did it with poison."

"Who?" Roy asked, wondering if it was another one of her clients that had taken things too far. Maybe she had accidently given him too many sleeping pills and had to cover up her tracks? Maybe there was a nice and neat little answer for this that didn't exactly spell out murder?

"My father."

Well, alright – that wasn't the answer he was expecting.

Seeing the shock wash over his features, Riza pushed off the back of the door and walked over to where he sat on the bed. She perched next to him, leaving a careful distance between them just in case he now thought differently of her.

"I was sixteen and I was tired of being abused by his hand." She shared with him, her quiet voice quivering with the pain of an old wound being torn back open. "His alchemy stole away whatever was left of him that was still human and turned him into a monster. I'll save you the sob story – but trust me when I say that if I hadn't killed him, it would have been me that was rotting away underground, six-feet-under."

Roy could imagine that what she said was true, given the conviction behind her tone. _Had this been what his aunt had meant when she called her lethal? No, it couldn't be_. He had a feeling that what she had just told him, no other soul on earth knew about. _Which left only one question…_

"Why are you telling me this?"

Riza gave him a small smile at the earnest question. "I wasn't lying when I told you I felt like we were kindred spirits. Like me, you have the eyes of a killer. I noticed it when you first sat at the bar earlier. I figured you and I would make a rather good pair."

Her attempt was good, but he could tell that there was more to her reasoning than just that. At his dubious look, she huffed a frustrated sigh.

"Fine – It wasn't just that." She admitted, turning towards him fully, her now swollen eyes staring directly into his. "Like I said, your sisters have always spoken highly of you. Though I know I could trust any of them with my life, I needed someone to understand what it feels like to carry this burden."

"Then why not speak about it with one of your military clients?" He asked, genuinely curious as to why she had chosen him of all people. Leaning back on the bed, he studied her closely. "Why did it have to be me?"

"Because I trust you to not turn me in to the MP's."

"Oh really?" He chuckled at her reasoning, the smile returning to his face for the first time since earlier that night. "Why's that?"

"Because, like you said earlier, I know all of your faults. We wouldn't want those to get out – now would we?"

"You've got me there." He conceded, before his face morphed into an expression of utmost seriousness. "Lucky for you, I happen to be a very trustworthy person."

"I figured you might be."

"And I have it on good authority that you only react violently when provoked." He continued, the maimed man from earlier coming to mind. He shuddered at the thought. "So if you say that your father gave you good reason to act the way you did – then I believe you. You certainly have better reasons for your actions than I do."

He could see she wanted to ask why he felt that way, so he hurriedly changed the subject.

"So, Riza?" Roy tested the name out on his lips, thinking that it suited her much better than the other name she had chosen to go by.

"Yes?"

"That's your name?"

"Yes."

"Is it short for anything?" He asked curiously – having never heard it before. Certainly, not in Central, at least.

"Thereza. It was my mother's name."

"It's very pretty."

"Thank you."

They sat in silence for a moment, considering one another. Roy couldn't deny that – much like Riza – he had felt a pull between them ever since their eyes had met earlier in the night. He didn't believe in fate, he had no reason to really – but he couldn't help but think that the conversation that had taken place on this night, was one that was always meant to take place. The coming together of two unhappy killers seemed to replace the beauty and the beast as a tale as old as time in their case.

The electricity that continued to snap in the air between them had reached a fever pitch and though Roy had certainly sobered up a lot since walking up the stairs, the warm rush of alcohol still sat heavy in his veins. He mentally berated himself for thinking such hot-blooded thoughts when the girl next to him had just confessed what seemed to be her biggest secret. _How could he be so selfish?_

But if there was one thing he had learned tonight – it was that Riza was full of surprises.

Before he could act on any of the impulses that he was so desperately trying to push down, he suddenly had a very warm – very _curvy_ – body straddled across his thighs. Roy barely had time to think before her cherry red lips were on his, her tongue invading and demanding entrance as if she owned him _._

_Hell, maybe she did._

He allowed her to kiss him senseless for a few moments before pulling back to catch his breath. As he took the time to fill his lungs, Riza was already leaving tiny love bites on the pale skin of his neck, right over the collar of his button down.

"Riza?" He managed to stutter out as she continued her assault on his neck. Damn, she was _good_. "I don't want to do this with how emotional you are right now – it wouldn't be right."

"Roy?" She murmured against the sensitive skin of his collarbone, causing a visible shiver to run up his back. "Why do you think I told you my name earlier?"

"Because you trusted me?"

"That," She bit down harshly on his skin, drawing a rather un-masculine whimper from his lips. She soothed the mark with her tongue before continuing. "And because I wanted you to use it. I was hoping tonight would end up this way."

"Why?"

"Because for one night, I want to be Riza again." She whispered, her warm breath caressing his ear as she drifted up to tease the lobe. "I don't want to be Elizabeth, who poisoned her father and ran off to a bar to work on gathering intel. I just wanted to be me. Don't you ever get the urge to just be Roy and not Captain Mustang?"

As her lips played with the skin of his ear, his hands drifted up to find a place on her slender waist. He couldn't help but feel like she was right – he did often wish to become Roy Mustang again, if only for a short while. Though he knew he couldn't ever fully erase what he had done in the past – it was nice to think that under the influence of alcohol and in the company of a young girl, that he could just be a run-of-the-mill young man again.

Sensing his acceptance in the way he now allowed his lips to drift to her own neck, Riza had to smile. Pulling his face back to her own, she engaged him in a series of hot, open-mouthed kisses.

"Do you want to know?" She asked, her lips touching his as the words escaped her in a sigh. Roy was barely paying attention at this point, leaving his own set of love bites against her perfectly pale skin. She smacked him lightly on the shoulder to get an answer.

"What?" He grunted, annoyed at the interruption. That was until she grabbed one of his muscular hands and guided it up the edge of her dress.

"Do you want to know where I keep my 'little pistol'?

With those words, he was sold. No coherent thoughts were had for the rest of the night. If he had noticed that she never allowed him to see the wide expanse of her back, he was too polite to ask.

After all, that was another secret for another day.

* * *

> _Up on my side, where it is felt_
> 
> _I pack a little pistol on my pistol belt_
> 
> _I think it might be fear_
> 
> _Of the world and the way it makes you feel afraid_

* * *


End file.
